It was a night like any other. Detective Dick Osborne sat behind his solid timber desk, closing files and getting ready to go home for the evening, or maybe to a bar, since there was nothing at home for him anyway, and he hated drinking alone.
There was a knock at the door and he looked up to see her standing there, all legs and breasts. Her curly blond hair hung in ringlets about her shoulders and her cold blue eyes warned him she was a dangerous woman. Her red leather skirt covered little more than her panties, though he had his doubts as to whether or not she was wearing any. The back latex tank top she had squeezed her more then ample breasts in to, was stretched to capacity, the fabric threatening to burst under the incredible strain.
The way she moved reminded him of a Persian cat his mother had owned when he was a child, her perfectly manicured red claws sliding down the length of her slender thighs as she moved closer to his desk. Leaning against the polished timber, her heaving cleavage dipping lower before his inquisitive eyes, she spoke in a pleading, exasperated voice.
"Oh Detective Osborne, I'm in terrible trouble, can you help me? I'm more than willing to pay you anything you ask. And I do mean anything."
He could tell this woman was desperately in need of his assistance, but with what, he wondered. She showed all the finesse of a million-dollar call girl, sleek and smooth, her perfume intoxicating. Yep, she was his kind of dame all right and he was willing to assist her with more than just her inquiry. Taking his notebook from the pocket of his tweed jacket, he reached for a pencil, the growing bulge in the front of his pants brushing hard against the edge of his desk. Leaning back in the chair, propping his feet up on the desk, he gave her a serious look.
"Ok Ma'am, just give me the facts." He held his pencil at the ready, not wanting to miss a single detail of her account. Propping her tight little ass on the edge of his desk, he could see the inside of her thigh. Either she has the furriest bush he had ever seen or she was hiding one very lucky kitty up her skirt. The thought of how he could make that kitty purr made him press a little hard on his pencil, snapping the lead and leaving a dark imprint on the paper. She gave him a wicked smile, knowing full well the affect she was having on him.
"What's the matter detective? No lead in your pencil?" She reached to the pencil holder and retrieved another, sharpened tool, handing it too him, running the tip of her well-formed tongue over her perfect white teeth.
He raised an eyebrow at her. "I have more than enough lead to suite my purposes, but it never hurts to keep your pencil sharpened. Now Ma'am, the facts?" She bit her bottom lip timidly, looking at him through puppy dog eyes.
"It's a terrible mess Mr. Osborne, I'm certain my lover is cheating on me. I think he's sleeping with his wife. He was always a terrible lover, blowing his load in no time at all, but lately, he's been lasting for hours, pushing and thrusting into me until I climax over and over again. You see, he can only do that on his second load, so he must be fucking that shameless slut before he comes to me. And then yesterday, he smelled of perfume, more expensive than the one he buys me, so he's obviously spending money on her well. He's such a cad. I want pictures Detective Osborne. Pictures, videotape, everything. I want to know if he really is fucking his bitch."
Osborne gave her a confused look. After all, it was hardly a crime for a man to fuck his wife and buy her perfume. A fact he pointed out to the woman.
"Please, call me Kitty, Kitty DeLuth." Her voice was soft and sultry, her red fingernails tracing lines up and down the inside of her thigh. "You see Mr. Osborne, he said that he loved me, and as soon as she died, he would marry me and keep in the manner I deserve. He swore I was the only one he would ever fuck, and if he's lying to me about that, he could be lying about everything. I have to know if he's true to me, I just have to." She pulled a silk hanky from her purse and dabbed the corners of her eyes, but Osborne was no fool, he doubted this feline ever shed a tear in her life.
Tapping his pencil on the edge of his note pad, he considered the possibilities of taking this case, and the repercussions.
"I will need to know the name of your lover before I can give you an answer Miss Kitty, though I doubt any man that would chose a house wife over a dame like you could be much of a man." Her sexy smile and cruel eyes told him she was thinking the same thing. Opening the bottom draw of his desk, he produced a bottle of cheap bourbon and two glasses, filling both glasses and handing her one. She threw her drink back in one shot and held the glass out for another.
"His name is Witherspoon, Drake Witherspoon." Osborne had just taken his first mouthful of the cheap liquor when she named the quarry. Choking, he coughed, spluttering and spraying the delectable Miss DeLuth with a mouthful of bourbon. She seemed unperturbed by the dousing, using her hanky to blot away the droplets of liquor that ran down into the bottomless depths of her cleavage. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he gave her a flat look.
"Lady you have got to be kidding. Drake Witherspoon must be pushing eighty, and his wife can't be much younger, not to mention he's the wealthiest, most powerful and eccentric man in the state. What's a sweet dish like you doing porking an old bore like him?" He knew that was a stupid question, it was obviously the money, still, the thought of that old mans body slapping around on her young tender flesh was enough to put him off his third glass of bourbon. Well, almost.
"No Detective, I'm not kidding. But if you think the job is to hard to handle, I'll take my twenty grand and give it to some one who can handle themselves a little better." Picking up her purse, she made a move for the door.
"Now hold on there a moment Miss DeLuth, for twenty grand, there is no such thing as I job I can't handle. Actually I'm pretty damn good at handling myself and do regularly. I am kind of intrigued as to how that old bastard gets it up to begin with, let alone keeps it going for hours. I'll get you your dirty pictures. Call me in a few days and I'll let you know what I find out." Opening her purse, she took out a wad of bills that made his mouth drool.
"Alright Mr. Osborne, you can have your shot at it. Here is ten grand, you get the other ten when I have pictures and video. One week, that's all the time I will give you, not a day more. Do we have an agreement Dick?" She flicked her hair and pushed out her breasts, her tongue moistening her glistening red lips.
Slipping the money into his coat pocket, he gave her an overconfident grin. "I would say we do Kitten." The way she wiggled her ass as she walked out his door made him think she really should have a tail to swing. What a woman. Shaking his head he reached for the open bottle and took a long hard swig. He could not believe that his wonderful career had led to his. He was to be little more than a peeping Tom. A charge he had been acquitted of in a county court thanks to the help of a good lawyer friend.
Recapping the bottle, he picked up his hat and his digital camera. He chuckled a little at the amount of money this thing had made him. It could do just about anything a normal camera and video cam could do, and the zoom was the best to be had. Closing the office door behind him, he headed out into the street, flagging down a cab and reading out the address Miss DeLuth had given him. He muttered another curse at the cop who had booked him for driving under the influence. How was he expected to conduct an affective steak out in a cab? It seemed ridiculous when he had a perfectly good Austin sitting in the garage at home. He had a long night ahead of him and he was beginning to wish he'd brought that bourbon with him.
The lights in the Witherspoon mansion burned bright as Dick had the cab drop him off near the front gate. The security in this place had to be the best available, and there was little if any chance he would be able to get inside the boundaries without being noticed by a burly guard, or mauled by large hungry dogs. He grinned wickedly when he spotted a tree that leaned against the boundary wall; it's branches hanging over into the property. It was perfect for both his entrances and his escape from the estate. Swinging the camera over onto his back, he quickly climbed the tree, badly misjudging the strength of the branches. No sooner had he reached to height of the fence, than the branch beneath him snapped, toppling him over the fence and onto the ground on the other side, his head connecting with well placed tap, setting off the sprinkler system and knocking him unconscious.
When Dick awoke, he found himself buck naked under a fresh white linen sheet with an ice pack on his forehead. It took him a few moments to figure out just where in the hell he was. He was about to get out of bed and look for his clothing when the door opened and a maid entered. She was a cute little thing in a gathered black skirt and a white blouse. Her short black hair curled around under her ears and her deep brown eyes fixed on him with a steamy gaze. He wondered for a moment if she had been the one to undress him. He certainly hoped so. She came closer to the bed, her cute little wiggle excentuated by the tight fit of her skirt.
